The members of the Thunder Squad sat miserably in a circle in Logan's living room. It was still raining. Logan's cardboard armor was dark and soggy and clung to his shoulders like glue. Elisha had slung his frisbee shield on his back like Captain America. Micah wore tin armor, which was actually composed of a trench coat covered in aluminum foil and rubber boots painted grey. The only thing tin about him was his metal helmet. Beau wore no armor (no armor would fit him) but he carried an overweight cardboard sword he called Big Bertha. Karleigh's armor was made of empty juice boxes glued together; and in her hand she held a notebook to record all of Logan's great deeds. Francis Platt had decided to wrap herself in thirty feet of bubble wrap. Whenever she moved she squeaked.
"That was not as successful as we hoped," Beau remarked, shaking his head sadly. Rainwater dripped off his nose and formed a puddle on the floor.
"We must not lose hope!" Logan bellowed. "Even though we are under the dictatorship of the mods, we will continue to document our amazing journey."
"Don't forget our commander's roasts," Elisha exhorted his fellow squad members. "Colin is probably in flames now."
"He is hot," Francis admitted.
Beau stood up, brandished Big Bertha, and shouted, "Do not fraternize with the enemy!"
Everyone cheered.
"It's getting crowded and humid in here," said Micah. "I'm soaked." He began to take off his tin boots.
"We do not take off armor!" Logan ordered. "It is unmanly."
Micah reluctantly put his tin boots back on.
"What shall we do in the next 22 hours, commander?" Elisha asked.
"I think we need new armor," said Logan, looking down at his cardboard armor and shaking his head sadly. "We need to be terrifying. More terrifying, I mean."
"I know a place!" Francis chimed in. "It's an enemy fort disguised as an arts and craft shop. We can salvage materials there."
"Outstanding!" Logan howled.
"Miraculous!" shouted Micah.
"Stupendous!" yelled Elisha. He tossed his frisbee into the air, where it smashed a lightbulb and brought a shower of plaster down on his head.
"Should we bring an umbrella?" Beau asked.
Logan sighed and shook his head. "Fine. But only one umbrella (because we only have one)."
So the Thunder Squad trooped out of the door, all crowded together under a tiny pink umbrella. Francis didn't mind, because she was waterproof, but Logan's armor slowly melted as they made their way to the store, and he left a trail of soggy cardboard behind him.
"Let us sing a song about our hero Donald Trump to boost our morale!" cried Logan. "I wrote this poem myself, obviously."
And he began, with the rest of the Thunder Squad following:
"To think that our great policies are so To warrant the urge to impeaching go,
This man called Trump has done no foul or flay,For grant to leave the leader's office days.
The White House which you see before you now, Neither should the people inside it bow,
For imperfect men will always be there,
But stay without the fear of a new Red Scare.
For since that old Dem Obama could not,
Neither ban the guns, Putin's rampage pot,
But went in deed and action that is true,
To make healthcare, cut army funding too. Trump has now dropped the unemployment here, Yet Democrats still hate him with great fear."
"Amazing poetry!" said Beau, with emotion. "What beautiful verse," Francis remarked. "It will defeat those old liberals," said Elisha. "Amen!" shouted Micah.
